The Art of Being Belgium
by LibraMoon
Summary: Extreme AU. America is a colony and England keeps her safe. The war between England, Turkey, and the Netherlands has been raging for over 100 years. Now, England has asked America to pose as Belgium to help bring an end to the war. NetherlandsxColonyFEM!America. For a reviewer who wanted more of the pair.
1. Chapter 1

**Extreme AU. NetherlandsxAmerica. This was inspired by a review left on my other story. For my 'Dutch' reviewer! Here... more of this pairing!**

**Rated M. I own nothing.**

OoOoOo

England called her America. Whatever the world held beyond her pristine shores, she did not truly know. Only what England told her.

He spoke of wars, rumors of wars, and countries other than himself that might try to take her away. He warned her that she must never allow this. America agreed. She only wanted to be with England. He protected her.

The war between England, Turkey, and The Netherlands-whom he called Holland- had been waged for nearly one hundred years prior to her birth. America only knew what England told her of Holland and his evil ways. Or how Turkey was without mercy and harmed several other nations just like her. America shivered at his tales. He often spoke of how Holland had hurt many people and subjugated others. She also understood that it was England that kept her safe.

She was his colony after all. England often reminded her as he brushed back her blonde hair fondly. He was grooming her to be an excellent nation, when she finally got there. America loved her time under British rule and England treated her very decently. There were many days where she would sit on the shore and wait for his ship to return. Often times, he had pretty baubles from exotic places just for her. Proper courting gifts, all of them, and America adored every single one. He had a sort of fondness for her that led America to believe that when she was what he needed her to be, they would be wed.

He had certainly dropped enough hints about it. _'When you are older, I shall take you with me_,' was his favorite promise and she kept that close to her heart. America flushed with pleasure at the thought of their union. England frequently told her it would be the stuff of legends, and she wished it were so. America did want to please him.

England had given her everything. England cared for her and protected her. She was a very blessed colony.

However, England's efforts to keep her safe did include having some of his soldiers on her land. America did not mind, for she belonged to England. Whatever he wished was her desire to fulfill to the best of her abilities.

She was a proper British colony, England's favorite as he told her on the gentle summer nights while they stared at the stars.

Her only tasks were minding to the home England had given her and keeping herself out of any tomfoolery that might arise. Where he thought she would ever encounter trouble, America did not know. She was forever safe with England, in her mind, at least.

Therefore, when Belgium an ally of the evil Holland had been captured near America's shores; She only knew when he returned on a horse slickened with perspiration, evidence of its hard ride to her home. She watched soundlessly as England carried a large sack, that almost appeared to be human-shaped. America felt slightly feint. What on Earth was going on? She wanted to ask, yet it was not her place to question her sovereign nation. England had been thoroughly brooding for nearly a fortnight, by the time she plucked up the courage to approach him. All of it out of nearly wifely concern. He did not eat his normal meals, nor spend time in America's company by the hearth as he often had. She could barely persuade him to take his usual evening tea!

She knocked at the door to his private chambers early one morning. Her hands full with a silver tray and tea set. She had prepared a special breakfast just for him, to perk him from his dreary mood.

When he answered the door, she gave him a demure smile. She always attempted to be a proper colony for England, it made him smile. America loved his smile. It made her feel as warm and happy as the day he found her amongst the reeds of a river.

He gave a hesitant grin in her direction. She thought that perhaps, whatever had been troubling him had finally passed. England gestured her into his room, and took the tray from her as she was about to set it down on his desk.

His green eyes surveyed her with such acute interest that America felt herself flush. What was going through his mind? She pondered the question for only a moment before tossing it aside. If England wanted her to know, he would tell her.

America contented herself with that knowledge. She gently patted her hair, to ensure it was still properly tamed. She was only concerned with pleasing England.

Until he approached America with a special request.

"America?" He asked gently, his accented voice caused her heart to flutter slightly.

"Yes?" She answered promptly.

"Do you remember the night I returned?"

She nodded quietly, as a look of concentration stole over his face.

"I have captured an enemy nation." He informed her nearly briskly. America gaped at him before shutting her mouth silently. Her eyes were wide.

"Congratulations are in order then?"

"Not quite, my pet. There is something I need from you," his green eyes narrowed on her face.

She drew a soft breath. England needed her? She felt her stomach tighten and flutter at the very thought.

"Anything," she said in a breathy voice.

Could America pose as Belgium for a time? Did she have the wherewithal to travel to foreign lands and help the British Empire? To gain the information they so desperately needed to end this horrid war? Would she be his little angel and help save the lives of countless innocent men? For him?

America agreed without a second thought. Yes, she would do it for England. Always for him.

He grabbed her up in a tight embrace that nearly had America trembling. She blushed and smiled widely at the touch of his arms around her.

England beamed at her and it was so enchanting that it nearly stole her breath away. He took her hand and pulled her out into the hall and down the stairs.

He led her to a room, where the country he called 'Belgium' was trussed up like a goose for slaughter. She was being held in an area of the house that was solely for England's discretion. America was never permitted in here. Now she understood very clearly, as to why. America placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp of shock. Her blue eyes widened at England who turned her toward the center of the room.

A strange series of symbols were drawn upon the stone floor. When England approached they appeared to glow, but perhaps that was only a trick of the light? What unholy thing was this? No, not unholy, England was the purest of nations. He would never dream of dabbling in Satanic things. This must be.. some holy thing she was unaware of. She was woefully uneducated in the world outside her shores compared to England. Her heart beat rapidly as she attempted to accept what her eyes were seeing.

America dared to look around, noting the strange yet exotic scent wafting in the air. Small plumes of smoke came from conical burners. She gazed upon them in slight awe. England placed a black robe around his shoulders and grabbed Belgium roughly.

She growled at him, America found it horrendously unladylike. Would The Netherlands be a savage like his ally? She dearly hoped not.

England plucked a few brown strands from the nation's head and proffered them to her.

America swallowed harshly and reached trembling fingers toward his hand.

The strands were nearly weightless as they were laid in her palm.

"Stand in the circle," England instructed her.

With numb legs she walked carefully into the circle of symbols on the ground. Her blue eyes met his green ones and the look of pure pride he gave her had America forgetting some of her fear.

England needed her to do this, so she must. The people needed her as well, she must never forget.

"Remember America, no matter how much you hate him personally, Belgium loves Holland. However, you must call him 'The Netherlands'."

She did not hate the Netherlands, England did, However, she was fiercely loyal to her sovereign nation, so she refused to enjoy even a moment of company in the other nation's lands.

America nodded quietly, readying herself for the transformation about to take place. The real Belgium was swearing their countries a thousand times over. The blonde colony did not think it was prudent to correct her assumption about America's status. America barely sparred her a glance, for she focused on what England told her.

This was an extreme honor, to be trusted by England like this.

She would not fail him. America would stand until the bitter end.

With a nod, she could hear England speaking rapidly calling names she did not understand. Her what-colored hair soon began to change under England's dark chanting. It grew and darkened to a honey brown. America could only distantly hear the words England was speaking, though she did not grasp what he was saying.

Her body twisted, and changed. Her skin pulled taut and it burned all over. America felt her breathing coming out is ragged pants as she screamed. She could almost hear England telling her to keep a _'stiff upper lip_' in her thoughts.

Ladies bore all pain with dignity and silence. America bit her lip to keep from crying out at the onslaught of power pulsing around her.

The pain subsided into itching. So intense and powerful that she clawed at the paling skin on her arms. Her shaped altered, her voice deepened slightly as she howled in frustration.

"It is alright America," England said in soothing tones as the light from the floor faded away. "It is done."

America put trembling hands to her face, and she looked back at Belgium who's wide eyes were frozen in shock. They were a perfect image of each other. It was as if Belgium were looking at herself in a mirror.

Such magic.

Dear Lord. Was this what England was capable of? America shivered at the thought. Her fingers touched unknown fabric. The dress of Belgium. There was a ribbon in her longer hair. She felt it as she looked at Belgium with a look of fear passing across her features.

This seemed unnatural, so very wrong, but it was for England.

"Thirty days America. That is all the time I can allow. You must find out what Holland is planning for his next attack. Do not forget they have breeched your shores," he warned her in a low voice, "only I will keep you safe. However, you must do this so that I can."

The colony nodded. Not trusting herself to speak.

Belgium watched them with terror shining in her green eyes. What were the mirror image of America's own at this moment.

England quietly led her away, leaving the bound nation helpless on the cold stone floor.

OoOoOo

England took her to the coast, and placed guards around her in a mostly empty fort. America was tied up and watched over, by her own men. She was Belgium, as she constantly reminded herself. England had explained to her that the Netherlands would send men to come collect his captured ally.

By now, the Netherlands would surely know of Belgium's capture and would launch a counterassault to free her. America tried to remember her prayers and repeated the litany inside her head. She prayed that God would guide her so that she would not fall into temptation while in the evil clutches of the Netherlands.

She recounted England's stories in her head, the ones that had been appropriate for a woman's delicate ears. He was a tall nation and he was ruthless, not as much as Turkey, but he was not to be trifled with. America needed to be strong.

She was a British colony. It would take more than this to dissuade her from completing her task for England.

Her men did not know who she was, and that was part of England's plan. He had to be certain that the Netherlands believed she was the real Belgium. It was imperative that she play that part, and luxuries given to a prisoner was not advisable.

So she suffered against the chill of the night in silence.

The attack happened at the break of day, as America huddled against prison cell wall. A single sentry had been at the south gate. The young man fled when his musket had misfired. Soon the forces of the Netherlands over ran the fort, and they found her in a short amount of time.

America blinked as she went from lightly dosing, to being pulled up gently by unknown hands.

She looked around, trying to understand where they were taking her. She stumbled forward, about to fall, when a man caught her elbow and steadied her. She gave a slight nod, not trusting herself to speak a word, lest she be discovered.

They led her to the main area where she saw a very tall and imposing man staring at her. He wore a coat of blue and white, with a shirt of red. The style of the clothing was similar to that of what she now wore.

America stilled and blinked at him, she felt her heart pang in nervousness. Now that she was surrounded by his men and seeing what she was certain was a hostile nation, she felt faint. Her heart started to beat so rapidly that she was afraid he would be able to see it about to burst in her chest.

She allowed her gaze to wander over his blonde hair, a shade lighter than her own had been and he too had green eyes. Very different from England, yet somehow they were stunning to America.

His face was like a blank mask and she knew not what to say, nor how to say it. She was wearing Belgium's features, but possessed none of the nation's memories.

She could tell the Netherlands was a hard nation, the way his eyes were predatorily watching her, and that he was not terribly pleased to have to come and rescue Belgium. Yet, he had still shown up, perhaps there was something honorable about this wicked nation after all?

America scolded herself for such foolish thoughts.

She said nothing as he strode forward and pulled out his dagger. She stilled, but watched him, ready to flee if his suspicions grew, as she worried they would. He hooked the blade in-between her wrists and started cutting away at the rope that held her.

America took the moment to study him discreetly. He was a rather handsome nation, she was surprised to find. The way England had described him, she would have thought him mottled and hideous. She wished England were here. He would give this Netherlands a sound lashing.

However, he was not here. It was only her and the Netherlands... and all of his men.

Soon her hands were free and she rubbed her aching wrists out of reflex. America gave him a small smile of thanks. England had warned her that Belgium loved the Netherlands, so surely smiling at him was not such a large leap of character?

His green eyes watched her intently, and she worried that she might have already gotten herself into hot water. However, he gestured for her to follow and turned to leave.

America gathered her courage and followed after him to a land unknown to her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you for reading. Thank you my lovely reviewers! I am always so happy to see them. They make me want to update faster! :)**_

_**Rated M, I own nothing. **_

_**The Netherlands is sexy. **_

OoOoOo

She is a proper British colony, and will not allow herself to fail.

Even as every word the men speak is foreign to her ears. America cannot understand them, not so much as a single sentence. Her gaze wanders to the surrounding soldiers as they smile and greet her return. Not hers, she reminds herself grimly, but Belgium's. The guttural noises of their speech was a far cry from England's lyrical language.

America smiled demurely, opting to appear tried and worn. She felt it inside, so the effort to act was not terribly much. She had spent a night nearly frozen, and a morning terrified constantly that her ruse would be discovered.

If she were discovered, she would fail England.

The colony would find death preferable to disappointing her sovereign nation. In her heart, which quickened at the thought of him, America held a vast amount of affection for her protector. How could she not? He had given her everything and she was exceedingly grateful for his gallant nature.

The Netherlands watched her occasionally, his eyes narrowed a few times. America did her best to appear as a regal female nation should. Even if the nation she was disguised as was a savage, compared to England's grace, surely every lady nation must act with proper decorum. America already felt a tad out of place for she had not been able to seek her normal mass in nearly three days.

Surely she would pay for her sins, for the Lord God was unforgiving with those that shirked their Christian duties. However, America prayed that God would be lenient and merciful. She did all this for England, whom was blessed by the Lord.

America noted the parchment scattered around the make shift tables, perhaps the Netherlands was holding stratagem meetings? England had described such things to her once, years ago. It had enraptured the newly formed colony then. However, as she grew and aged, England was determined to educate her in all areas necessary for her to succeed. America had been trained to take England's place in his absence, though not permitted to see over anything past the home he expected her to care for, to settle farming disputes or the like.

However, to ease his burden, she had taken the task upon herself to check upon finances and learn of ways to make her people more profitable. She wished to please her protector. Though England was unaware for her hard efforts, yet, it was worth every moment of struggle if he was happy with her.

The men in front of her asked her a question, one she could not make out.

America froze, her head high, but her eyes downcast as she tried to think of a way out of answering. If she uttered one word, she would be doomed.

She was an English Colony. She did not speak Dutch. Nor, did she have any inclination to learn how until this moment.

In truth, she was rather frightened and overwhelmed, but she trusted the wisdom of England beyond a doubt. If he believed that she could accomplish this task, then she would.

No other option existed.

The silence dragged on, and the men exchanged glances, looking back toward the Netherlands.

America had to keep herself from jumping out of her skin when his heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Her spine stiffened and she drew a fortifying breath, careful not to make too much noise. Her heart was pulsing in her chest violently.

"_Gaat het wel goed_?" The male nation's deep voice rolled across her ears. He turned her toward him, and America tried to keep her gaze on the ground.

She gave a shaky smile, and touched cold fingers to her exposed throat lightly. She looked at him quickly, noticing that his eyes were rather extraordinary-though nowhere near as captivating as England's-, and then away once more.

"_Wat deed dat Engels klootzak met je gedaan_?"

Engels? America's mind could not help but believe that sounded like England or English. However, not knowing the meaning of the word, she could draw no true conclusions. However, '_Wat_' did sound like '_What_'.

She swallowed, and her mouth went dry. He was asking her a question. The nation was asking her a question _directly,_ and she had no way to reply. Not in any way that wouldn't spell certain doom for herself or war for England.

Because, she knew that England would rescue her if anything should go amiss.

With that comforting thought clutched tightly to her, America gave a wan smile. Belgium loved the Netherlands, and had just been 'returned' after being held 'captive'. America licked her dry lips quickly, the feeling was strange and wrong as she knew as they were but were not her lips.

She nodded toward the Netherland's, feeling it was the safest course of action. She allowed her shoulders to droop, and did her best to draw attention to her obvious fatigue.

However, not a single word escaped her lips, nor a sound. The Netherlands watched her like a hawk about to tear apart an unsuspecting mouse.

"_Ik zal een arts te krijgen_," he grumbled with a few harsh words following his statement.

America did not need to understand his language to know that a lady such as herself should not hear such things.

A blush decorated her features, and she demurely looked back toward the men that eyed her worriedly. She was forced to admit that for being the enemies of England, they were a rather concerned lot. She had not expected such kindness toward her health, however, it was also not her they truly worried for. It was Belgium.

The enemy nation that England was holding while America completed the task that only she could. Her eyes flickered back toward the make-shift table, and she tried to recognized the drawings from a distance as well as upside down.

She made a gesture of tiredness, bringing her hand toward her mouth and discreetly hiding a yawn. Her eyelids drooped slightly, as she politely passed by the soldiers. They gave her a wide enough birth and did nothing to halt her advancement toward the parchments.

If she could but flitch some of these for England, then perhaps it would be enough to allow him a chance to gain the upper hand in the war for a single battle. However, England often said that wars were won or lost based on single battles. America stopped short of the edge of the table and peered down at the drawings.

It was several of her colonized towns, drawn in various angles. Where these areas they had searched for Belgium? Or plans for attack or assault upon her soils? She felt her face pale.

Did The Netherlands intend to pry her from England?

She nearly shook with rage, for she would never allow it. She would stand her ground and stay by England's side.

Pale fingers trembled as she moved some of the sheets. Many of them were landscapes she did not recognize. Was this the world? The places she'd never seen? Trees who bore fruit she had never seen? Reverently, she touched the sketch. What strange wonders.

Oceans, and animals that were not part of her world nor her people. America felt herself shiver, her eyes widened. Was this what England knew? She shifted more papers to the side, and her heart nearly stilled in her chest.

There were pictures of England's shores. America's lips parted in a silent gasp. She had only ever seen them when he had drawn them, yet they were not as magnificent as these. With shaking hands, she pulled one up closer to inspect it. A soft smile touched her lips.

She did not realize that a string of islands curved around one side... England had only ever mentioned one large one. Perhaps it was the one he favored? She looked at another, beneath it, where a bay was proudly displayed, and seagulls flocked overhead.

It almost looked as if it were drawn by someone desperately longing to head home.

America thought it strange. However, she did not know if such things were common for those that waged war to draw their enemies' land with reverence.

"_Ik mis thuis ook." _

She looked up suddenly with wide eyes. All she could see was the somber face of The Netherlands. America felt her face flush from embarrassment at having been caught snooping through his papers like a common thief.

She hastily, but gently, returned the parchment to the pile. Her gaze wandered to him more than once.

"_We zullen er snel zijn."_ He told her in a manner she could only assume was meant to be soothing. He smiled at her fondly.

She had never had another nation, other than England, ever smile at her. She had not known a single one prior to England and his enemies. One of which was treating her with some semblance of affection.

America gave a weak smile, and stood stiffly before him.

"_Kom nu_," he said beckoning her to follow, "_De_ _arts is hier_."

All she could gather was something about arts. America had not realized that art played such a vital role to the Netherlands. Puzzled, but wary, she followed after him. The colony was keen on getting to some sort of information she could pass back to England. So far, she had found naught but a few drawings.

However, she steeled herself for what was to come, and took note of the faces she passed, it reminded her that she was woefully out numbered. It prompted her to think she was in the proverbial lion's den. She glanced to her right, and saw off in the distance a few large ships.

Likely, she would board one of them and return to the old world, for England often teased her that she was the 'new'. She dearly missed his presence now.

The Netherland's led her to a cloth covered tent, make-shift and torn in a few places, and lifted a heavy flap. He disappeared inside. America swallowed, gathering up her courage as her palms sweated with effort.

She had long since passed the point of deciding against this rash plan. It was time to follow through. She straightened her already perfect posture and walked closer to the tent. The colony clamed herself as she lifted the flap and took a fateful step inside.

A short man with a molted nose and sour expression met her gaze. The man, looked her over with a shrewd eyes and motioned her forward with his pudgy fingers. America glanced at the Netherlands, almost seeking reassurance or permission to approach the stranger.

The Netherlands looked at her for a moment, his expression hidden.

She took a tentative step forward, forcing herself to act as a mature nation aught, Without fear. Like England.

America stared straight ahead as the man turned her head from side to side. He barked somethign at her in their throaty language. However, she did not understand his words. It could have been a command, and likely was.

When she did not react quickly enough, he pried her mouth open to inspect inside. The sour man made a decisive snort, and moved to inspecting her limbs. America reared back as the male reached to lift up the skirt of her dress. She slammed her hands down on her sides and flushed darkly.

She glanced between the males, rather horrified.

What sort of savages were these? Did England know that they freely tried to sneak peeks at a lady? Her virtue would be called into question were anyone to know! America clenched her fists in her skirt front, trying not to make a sound.

It would get her killed to voice her protest.

Her gaze locked with the Netherland's who cocked his head to the side, and smiled slowly. America trembled, afraid she'd been found out because she was not a heathen like these men. She met his gaze and lifted her chin defiantly. She readied herself for an attack that did not come.

The blonde male nation turned slowly around, but she saw the barest hints of a smile on his face as he did so. The short man reached for her skirt again and America slapped his hand away, rage plain on her features.

He shouted something at her, and she glared at him fiercely. She would not allow them to abscond with her virtue! She was a proper lady.

After a minute or two of fierce glares, the short man narrowed his eyes at her, and proceeded to come closer, yanking her head with both his hands. His thick fingers combed through her hair without gentleness but practiced ease.

He prodded a few spots on her scalp and she winced. He released her and turned her face from side to side once more. He stared at her, directly in her eyes. He poked her waist and stomach.

America felt fury and shame burning at her cheeks. What was the meaning of this? She glared at the man, and at the nation that turned back around when the short man snapped something out again.

They began talking as she tried in vain to understand what they were discussing.

OoOoOo

"She has suffered some trauma," The physician proclaimed to the Netherlands after a few more tense minutes.

"What sort of trauma?"

"A blow to the head most likely, or a fit of the vapors too strong to overcome as of yet. It appears that at some point she was exposed to the elements longer than she should have been. What has caused her change in behavior could be a multitude of things." The short man quipped with annoyance. "The weaker sex are very susceptible to ailments. You have seen this."

The Netherlands hummed in his throat softly.

"Is that why she is acting so strangely?"

"Yes, that is likely the reason. A few days of rest and food should have her sorted out."

"Why isn't she talking?" He ventured, half-curious.

The physician gave him a sour look. "You are complaining about a woman _not_ chattering your ears off?"

The nation laughed, a deep and rich sound.

"Perhaps it seems odd to you-"

"Odd is a description I will accept because a lady is present." The physician argued back, without any venom. He gaze landing on a blushing Belgium, who refused to look at them.

"Still, she... can speak, can't she?"

The man looked troubled. HIs dark and beady eyes held a weight of unspoken words that caused a shiver of concern to rush down the nation's spine.

"There is no physical reason she should not speak." He replied, nearly grimly, "However, depending on what level of trauma her delicate constitution has suffered, it might take time for her to regain her voice. I have seen such things occur with soldiers that return from particularly harsh wars."

The Netherland's was quiet. He brooded over the honest response with no small amount of rage. His allied nation had been harmed by that bastard England.

However, just as he was readying to go hunt the other nation down and run him through, Belgium looked at him.

The flush on her cheeks and the glittering in her eyes were something he had never seen before. She seemed so... innocent in that moment that it gave him pause. The Netherlands had known her his whole life, but he had never felt an urge to truly protect her before now. Some strange feeling coiled in his chest as her brow knit together in worry or fear. Belgium gave him a shaky smile, and he had never known her to smile at him so often. The blush staining her features darkened, her eyes were wide but trained on his.

She looked away quickly, but her blush lingered.

How strange, but some part of him was inexplicably attracted to the vision of loveliness she presented. However, he squashed the thought down mercilessly. She was Belgium, a nation that had practically raised him.

They still had a war to wage against the blood thirst England and his quest to dominate the known world.

"It would be best," the physician interrupted in a gentle tone, "to have a woman look at her. Her ladies in waiting perhaps?"

The Netherland's nodded slowly. Yes, perhaps it was best to leave a female's healing to women. He thanked the physician, and paid him for his services. The human left without further comment and the Netherland's turned toward Belgium.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, vaguely concerned and bothered that she still hadn't said a word.

Belgium turned and only looked at him blankly.

OoOoOo

_**Translations:**_

_Ik mis thuis ook: I miss home too._

_We zullen er snel zijn: We will get there soon._

_Wat deed dat Engels klootzak met je gedaan: What did that English Bastard do to you?_

_Ik zal een arts te krijgen: I'll go get the doctor/physician._

_Gaat het wel goed_?_: Are you alright?_

_Kom nu, de arts is hier: Come now, the physician is here._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Well, I have to make some corrections on the last translations. **_

Wat deed dat Engels klootzak met je gedaan:is wrong it has to be: **Wat heeft die Engelse klootzak met je gedaan.**  
>Ik zal een arts te krijgen: Also wrong :) it has to be: <strong>Ik zal een arts gaan halen<strong>. (instead of arts you could also use the word dokter :) )  
>resources: i'm dutch :)<p>

_**To the "Dutch" -Guest Reviewer, thank you! :) I have only been learning Nederlands for two weeks, so my grammar is... eh right now. **_

_**I wasn't sure if Doctors were called 'Doctor' until after the 1800's. I was trying to use physician, however if Dokter is correct, I will make sure to use it.**_

_**Later there will be an appearance of Pirate Russia. **_

_**Thank you for reading and to my lovely reviewers!**_

OoOoOo

Dear Lord of Heaven and creation above. What had she done?

America tried to hold in the contents of her lunch. The ship, which she could only presume was to take them back to his homeland, pitched and lurched in different directions. More than once she lost her footing and went tumbling into the nearest bit of wood or wall that was available.

She'd nearly broken her neck, and everything in the cramped space which had likely belonged to Belgium. That was the only logical conclusion she could come to, for when she'd opened the trunk at the back corner of the room, there had been all manner of dresses.

She had yet to see another female onboard the vessel. It made her slightly ill at ease to be surrounded by the foreign men and the Netherlands.

Whom, perhaps out of concern or, secretly she feared he was suspicious, had taken to escorting her around the ship. He did not let her go anywhere without him. America thought that perhaps it was for the best. She did not wish to become lost in this infernal contraption of death.

The Netherlands watched her, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. She tried in vain to keep a sense of poised refinement despite the difficult situation. Her hair was swear-slicked and plastered to her forehead. The lower areas of the ship all smelled foul. Akin to rotting flesh and refuse of wastes she had no wish to think about.

It made America long for her plains and forests. The breeze that carried over her lands brining the sweet fragrances of flowers, or the tang of the bitter salt air.

When she compared her idyllic scene to her reality, America grew gloomy once more. This was, by and large, what she envisioned purgatory to be like. The ship lurched again, and she nearly toppled over.

England, glorious and blessed nation that he was, obviously had been showing her the grandest sort of mercy by not allowing her to come with him during his travels. The compassion he had shown her! If this was what being aboard a ship was like, America made a silent prayer to the Lord God for deep rewards to her sovereign nation England. He had cast his pearls of wisdom before her, and she had been too uneducated to realize it until now.

When her task was complete, and the war won, she would fall down on her knees and sing hymns of praise about England.

However, thinking of England made her miss him even more keenly, now that she was completely alone with the strange male nation. It seemed _highly_ improper to be alone with any male. However, America would keep a safe distance from him.

Which meant she had plastered herself up against the wall on the other side of the tiny room.

She could not help but think this all to be rather undignified. However, she would do her very best and sent another prayer to the good lord above for safe passage.

She missed land, and she hated the fact that room was stiflingly hot at the same time her fingers were nearly frozen stiff from cold. Belgium likely had been forced to suffer similar discomforts, and America would not allow herself to be compared and found wanting with a savage that opposed England. Even if Belgium was only allied with the wicked Netherlands.

Who looked remarkable unperturbed by the constant motion of the ship.

That settled matters in America's mind. Clearly, the Netherlands had made a pact with the devil to comfort himself on this vile ride they had the nerve to call 'sailing'.

How else could he possibly unperturbed?

OoOoOo

His concern over Belgium only increased. The Netherlands had never seen anyone actually turn slightly _green_ before. However, there was a tinge to her cheeks that could only be described as... well... green. Belgium hardly spared him a glance, and he found it strange that she would not sit.

However, all that paled in comparison to the fact that she seemed unable to find her sea legs. Perhaps the physician, who was admittedly more trained in these matters than himself, was correct and she had suffered some blow to the head. England was a blood thirsty sort, and that made The Netherlands worry over what exactly had happened to his allied nation.

Belgium nearly pitched to the floor again, and he was beset by the urge to keep her from falling. She had always been a nation that would stand on her own two legs, however, and the Netherlands already knew that any offer of assistance he gave would be rebuffed.

She had her pride after all.

He bit back a smile at the various memories from his childhood about Belgium and her problems with foreign occupation. She had nearly made it a national honor to oppose anyone, at least on a societal level, that dared interfere with her.

The Netherlands had been very fortunate to get Belgium back into an alliance with him. Their two countries had been separated due to politics and wars. Their united front allowed him, and several other nations, to oppose England and at the same time keep Turkey from over running their borders.

Word had reached him of England's new territory. One that was not entirely new, for he'd held onto it for many decades now, however The Netherlands had heard that England's people were flourishing on the beautiful lands he had heard of, then glimpsed when Belgium had gone missing.

It proved too large of a threat to be ignored. England was gaining valuable resources and if his numbers were growing, it would only make him stronger. An even greater threat than before. It worried the Netherlands greatly. He did not want his people to be subjugated to English rule.

England wasn't power mad, he only grudgingly admitted, he wanted to establish himself on the throne of the world. Which sounded worse than it was. The island nation wanted to have more territory. They all did, even if they claimed otherwise. However, England was the sort that would do anything necessary to accomplish his goal.

That is what made him so dangerous. Turkey had power, through numbers and history. The Netherlands had skills and innovation. However England... that nation had cunning and tenacity. Which made him equally as dangerous.

Belgium gave a nearly soundless whimper, but he heard it all the same. Her eyes darted toward the door, and for a moment the Netherlands entertains himself with the image of her trying to dart out of the room like a caged animal.

However, the ship is a dangerous place for any woman. The men are good men, but sea and war can make even good men act shamefully. It is in her best interest, as she knows, not to be alone in any of the various nooks and crannies.

She refused to sit down, and he let his eyes trace over her again. To his knowledge she had never been this antsy about a simple trip to see Canada. The seas had been very calm, and the gentle rocking of the ship should not have made her look quite so ill. When she was better, he would tease her mercilessly for it. For now, he was content to watch over her so she did not succumb to another fit of vapors, or whatever ailment she was recovering from.

The Netherlands stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles, and settled more firmly into the worn chair that supported his weight.

They still had a lot to accomplish. Canada had risked a great deal by agreeing to aid them. He was an ally of France, who was an ally of the Netherlands. If their sources were correct, England spent a great deal of time in a particular settlement. The reason for it was unknown, but The Netherlands could not help but believe something valuable had to be in that settlement.

Belgium looked at him again, her eyes wide as the wood groaned when a wave gently brushed it. He noticed that she appeared calmer than those expressive eyes gave away. He could not remember her ever having been like this outside of their childhood. She had always been an affluent nation, but there was a quality about her now that seemed... different.

Neither good nor bad. He thought her spine might snap in half, as straight as she was attempting to stand. However, Belgium had always been predisposed toward grand things. Her churches, and trade were reflective of that. The Netherlands dismissed some of her oddness as her recovering and the rest as his imagination.

She had been through some ordeal and he would do well to remember it. Belgium had yet to say anything and that was bothersome. It made him furious at the English bastard. His hands itched to wring the wring the bastards neck. He had never known her to be so quiet and it unnerved him. The wrongness of her silence settled over him like an old coat.

He narrowed his eyes at the way she tried to wedge herself into a corner for support. It was a stark contrast to the look she'd given his drawings. The drawings of home. He longed to return to the comfort of his shores and not these strange ones.

However, that was a luxury he could not afford. England was only growing stronger, and even Turkey had started collecting allies should their concerns come to fruition. The Netherlands might be forced to meet with Russia, should the matter prove worse than they feared.

He turned his mind over to important matters. He watched, only half paying attention, as Belgium leaned her head back against the wall.

OoOoOo

Perhaps it was _more_ undignified to stumble about like mad creature than it was to take a moment of reprieve. Even in the face of the enemy. America closed her eyes, fighting back her nearly overwhelming urge to decorate the floor with the contents of her stomach. She would not falter. She was stronger than this.

Her country had no navy, and England had made it seem majestic and gallant. America could only surmise that it was simply ghastly and awful. Should the day ever come where England took her in holy union, she would leave all the naval details up to him. As was his right as her sovereign nation.

She attempted to pluck up her courage and she needed some way to communicate with the Netherlands that would not give her away. How else was she supposed to find the necessary information for England? She could not read nor speak the male nation's language.

She worried her bottom lip for a moment.

America was also highly perturbed that he would not leave her be. Was he some sort of guard? Had she been figured out? Had that strange short man from the tent said something? The thoughts flitted through her mind like a summer breeze and she could not seem to catch a single one.

Not in truth.

How long would she be forced to endure this voyage? America felt a shiver of fear at the thought that the full thirty days might be spent aboard this dreadful vessel. She could not even leave, for the Netherlands body nearly physically barred the door in the cramped space. She doubted she could match him in brute force.

She glared at him, highly unacceptable for a proper British colony. However, in her heart of hearts she knew England would approve of her resolve.

OoOoOo

Belgium was glaring at him.

The Netherlands realized belatedly, as he felt her eyes upon him. Openly glaring at him. He had not done anything, to his knowledge.

He returned her heated look with a bland one of his own. Did she blame him for her state? Or her capture? She had been the one that volunteered to go in the first place to potentially hostile waters. The Netherlands had been coming to stop her, to protect her when he'd heard of her ship being sunk off the coast of England's colony.

She blushed, and looked away quickly when he continued to stare at her.

He gave a wry smile of amusement. Though he was concerned for her plight, he couldn't help but find her amusing like this. What was she thinking? One moment she was reserved and nearly demure, and the next she was openly glaring at him.

Perhaps she had suffered a blow to the head.

"Are you alright?" He asked in a deep and rich voice.

Belgium stilled, and her eyes widened as she looked back at him. A heartbeat passed between them. Then two. However, she said nothing. It was only her stillness that even allowed him to know that she'd heard him.

Hesitantly, she nodded. Her face still bore the lingering traces of a blush. Women were strange but lovely creatures to him. The Netherlands watched her with half-hooded eyes. The sooner he was able to get her among womenfolk and looked at, the better off they both would be.

There was an air about her that was...

He could not even properly describe it. She seemed... almost... younger. It was a conundrum. Belgium had been around longer than he had.

"Are you certain?" He asked again, keeping his musings out of his tone. "You seem out of sorts."

She stared at him, her wide eyes unblinking. She turned her face away, nearly seeming shy and uncomfortable. Now that he thought about it, she'd been uncomfortable around him since the incident with the physician.

OoOoOo

America thought her heart would pound out of her chest. When his predatory gaze had honed in on her, she'd felt a fissure of fear run through her. How could she be so foolish as to forget?

England had told her. Belgium loved The Netherlands. America knew love. She loved England. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She needed to think of England, and only England.

If the Netherlands were England, how would America behave? If it had been England that had come to her rescue, what would she have done?

A slow and easy sort of affection filled her chest at the mental image of her sovereign nation coming back to her shores after being away for so long. The picture of him besting his foes in battle made her proud and happy.

No wonder the Netherlands looked at her with suspicion! She was not acting as a lady in gratitude would act.

America soothed her frazzled nerves and took a fortifying breath. If he were England...

If those new green eyes were those of the nation she adored and knew so well...

She looked at The Netherlands. The same warm and sweet look she always gave to England was plain on her face. Her adoration shining through her gaze as she smiled at him as if she'd missed him so keenly she thought her heart would break.

America beamed at him as if he were England. Her cheeks warmed with a rosy glow and she earnestly pictured her sovereign nation. Her protector and the man the courted her with the gifts he brought back from exotic places she did not know.

A soft hum of pleasure sounded in the back of her throat. A gentle expression of contented happiness.

OoOoOo

The Netherlands froze in his chair.

His green eyes watched her with blank surprise.

Belgium had never looked at him like that before. He seen her furious, patient, kind, and just about everything in between. However, he could not recall a single time that she had seemed so...

He stood quickly, and left the room. The Netherlands slammed the door behind him. Obviously he would need to fetch her some assistance again. Or whatever ailment she had was some sort of New world disease. Likely contagious.

That was the only logical reason his heart would be racing.

The Netherlands fervently hoped he would not need to quarantine her.


End file.
